


The Dances of Stiles Stilinski-Hale, Cocktease Supreme.

by Bunnywest



Series: Rabbit verse [14]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Anal Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Peter is a pole dancer, Rough Sex, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-22 20:14:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11387580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunnywest/pseuds/Bunnywest
Summary: When Stiles owes him a week worth of pole dances, Peter takes great joy in reminding him of it whenever he can, smiling smugly, thinking he has the upper hand.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hooray, I did it! One chapter! Hardly any additional plot! Unexpected library ladies...wait what?
> 
> Also, slightly unedited, so let me know if I missed any typos.

Stiles loves Peter, deeply and unreservedly, never doubt that.

And at his core, he wants him to be happy.

But.

One of the things Stiles loves the most about his marriage to Peter is the sass and snap of their relationship, the battle of wits, the one-upmanship that they constantly indulge in. 

Physically and mentally, it’s a pretty even match. Yet somehow Peter always seems to come out on top. 

So when Stiles owes him a week worth of pole dances, Peter takes great joy in reminding him of it whenever he can, smiling smugly, thinking he has the upper hand.

I c

Stiles lets him think that, and faithfully promises that once his Dad’s wedding is over, he’ll devote a week to dancing for Peter every day.

He fully intends to keep his promise, too.

He intends to dance every day for a week.

To dance, and nothing else.

To dance at odd hours and keep Peter awake.

To dance to music he knows the older wolf can’t stand.

But mainly, he plans to drive Peter wild with desire by the end of seven days,refusing his advances until he’s begging Stiles to be allowed to sleep with him.

It’s a great plan. He’s going to get the upper hand for a change.

What could possibly go wrong?

 

_**Monday** _

 

Peter Hale is not, and has never been, a morning person. When he works the bar, or dances at Jungle, it’s often 2 or 3 am before he gets to bed.

Unless Stiles wakes him for sex, he happily sleeps till 9 am most days.

 So when Peter is woken by a heavy bass beat at 5.30 am, he’s not happy. It’s _loud_. 

He vaguely recognizes it as “ _I Got A Feeling_ ” by Eagles of Death Metal, a song that Stiles loves, with a thumping drum beat and frantic vocals. It’s not 5.30 am music, and definitely not at this volume.

“Stiles!”He yells as he drags himself upright in bed. 

Stiles smiles cockily from where he’s sitting on the end of the bed, and yells over the music “it’s your first dance! Enjoy!” before flipping effortlessly up onto the pole that they’ve installed in the bedroom and starting a routine of fast spins and movements up and down the pole.

It’s impressive, certainly, showing off his muscles and speed, but it’s not what Peter was expecting. It’s less sexy, and more Olympic gymnast pommel horse.

Stiles adds to the lack of sexy by singing along, tunelessly belting out _”My friends are talkin', and they're tellin' you, you're wastin' your time, the boy's bad news..”_

The song’s short, only two minutes long, and it’s half over before Peter has any idea what’s going on. He stares, dazed from the early morning assault on his senses. Stiles is hanging  down upside down now spinning, shaking his head and playing air guitar in time to the relentless beat.  Peter watches him with narrowed eyes.

Stiles is up to something, but he doesn’t know what.

Stiles continues to dance on the pole, until the song ends as suddenly as it started.

He slides off then, and stands in front of Peter, grinning. “One day down, six to go, Wolfman” he comments, and strides off to the shower.

Peter’s awake now, and grumpy with it, but Stiles does look very attractive with a light sheen of sweat, so Peter follows him into the bathroom, thinking that perhaps a little morning sex will help him feel better.

“What are you doing? Stiles demands.

Peter shrugs. “Well, we’re awake so nice and early, and you did look pretty on that pole, Stiles…”

Stiles folds his arms in front of his chest, saying “Oh no, the deal was a week of dances. There was no mention of sex. That can wait until after the week’s up”.

Ah, thinks Peter, so that’s the game. 

He affects a crestfallen look. “You’re very cruel, rabbit” he pouts.

“What, no argument?” Stiles asks.

 “Absolutely not, rabbit, it’s your right to say no. But if you change your mind, just ask me” Peter smirks.

And he runs a single finger down the centre of Stiles’ chest, chasing a drop of sweat, licks the tip of his finger, and then inserts the whole thing into his mouth and sucks on it lewdly, before turning and walking away.

Stiles watches his delectable ass depart, and suddenly gets the feeling that there may be a glaring flaw in his plan to make Peter wait a week.

Shit.

 

 

 

**_Tuesday_ **

 

After a night spent spooned around each other, Stiles wakes to feel Peter’s erection pressed against him. Peter’s thrusting gently as he sleeps, tiny unconscious movements of his hips.

Stiles almost feels bad for what he’s about to do.

He slips out of bed, then cues up the music. He increases the volume slightly from yesterday. He goes into the bathroom and looks in the mirror, biting his lips to redden and plump them, styling his hair to look artfully tousled, and adding a light covering of oil over his tattoos, to make them stand out.

He slips into tiny gold shorts. He had them left from a Rocky Horror cosplay, but he thinks they’ll work for this. He has no plans to put out for the rest of the week, and he wants to make sure Peter knows what he’s missing. He adds the finishing touch to his costume, and starts the music.

 

It’s 5 am.

 

“ _Iiiiiiiiiiiii don’t want a lot for Christmas, There is just one thing I neeeed…_.”  Stiles croons along with Mariah.

Peter sits up with a start. 

Stiles grins, and starts rotating smoothly round the pole. His gold lame Santa hat matches his shorts, and he makes sure that his abs ripple as he smoothly moves along the metal, locking his ankles and throwing his body out sideways. The tiny bells he’s attached to his piercings jingle merrily.

Peter _absolutely loathes_ Christmas music.

“Stiles”, he snarls out “It’s fucking _May_ ”.

Stiles ignores him and continues to sing and dance,warbling about _I just want you for my ooown”…..,_ feet spread wide with hands between then, rotating his hips as he spins, in a move that he knows drives Peter wild.

But not today, apparently.

Peter buries his head back under his pillow, and Stiles stops singing long enough to tell him “You’re missing some really good stuff here, Peter, these are prime moves”.

“Fuck off” is the muted response from under the pillows.

Stiles just sings louder, and starts grinding against the pole in a lewd display. He sees the corner of the pillow twitch up as Peter starts watching, unable to help himself. He rubs one hand against the bulge in his shorts as he dances, moaning instead of singing now.

Peter has his head out from under the pillow fully now, and he has a hungry look in his eyes.  Excellent, thinks Stiles, and moans louder.

He finishes up the dance by arching out backwards from the pole, and then sitting back up, his muscles straining with the effort of the midair sit-ups.  As the music ends, he drops back down and hangs there invitingly, erection on full display in his shorts.

“Very nice rabbit” says Peter, slightly more awake now, and able to plan his counter attack. He rolls over onto his back and lays with one hand behind his head, and the other very obviously stroking himself beneath the blankets.

“Sorry Peter, I said no sex till the end of the week, remember?”

“And I wouldn’t dream of taking advantage of you when you’ve made it so clear, Stiles. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m just having some _me_ time” Peter replies smoothly.  Then he tosses the blankets back so that Stiles can see his hand moving swiftly up and down his shaft, see the precome leaking, and see Peter’s naked body and splayed legs.

He huffs at that, unable to look away, hand rubbing at his own crotch.

“Something you want, rabbit?” Peter asks breathlessly, even as his hand moves faster.

“No” grumbles Stiles, as he slumps off to the bathroom for his own me time. He doesn’t enjoy it as much as usual.

Peter grins to himself as he watches Stiles depart.

 

 

 

**_Wednesday_ **

 

Peter wakes to the sound of Michael Buble.

It’s late – after nine, and the volume level is tolerable this morning. He grins, thinking he’s winning, and Stiles has learned his lesson.

Stiles has not learned his lesson.

What Stiles has learned, is the dance that Peter did for him, the first one, and he’s on the pole, recreating it perfectly as the strains of Feeling Good swell in the morning silence.

And damn, he’s doing a fine job. He’s even wearing the leather pants. Peter whines a little at the sight.

Flip, flex, arch, roll, thrust, wiggle, grind, …..Stiles’ body moves fluidly through the dance.

Peter is groaning now, unashamedly palming himself as he watches. Stiles grins in triumph as he manages to land the splits and jump back onto the pole near the end. He rips the pants off at the finish, and throws them at Peter.

He’s naked underneath, and hard. He pumps his hand along his cock a couple of times, and then turns his naked ass to Peter and walks away.

“Stiles?” Peter calls after him.  

“Yes Peter?” he replies, turning back expectantly, ready for Peter to beg, and thinking he might even say yes.

Peter throws the pants back at him. “You forgot these.”

Stiles looks at him unbelievingly. “Are you telling me that didn’t turn you on? Really?”

“Oh it did, incredibly.“ Here Peter’s voice dips seductively.  “Made me want to drag you off that pole and into bed, and fuck you till you screamed for mercy. But you said no sex till the week is over, so” and here he lets out a small sigh “Unless you change your mind, there’s nothing I can do.”

And he carries on stroking himself, panting a little as he gets closer to the edge.

Fucking Peter, thinks Stiles. He’s boxed himself onto a corner now. 

Peter won’t ask, he knows that. Peter is perfectly happy to wait until Stiles begs, however long that takes, because Peter has cast iron self-control. He's so screwed.

 

 

 

**_Thursday_ **

 

Peter is not perfectly happy to wait for as long as it takes. His self-control  is currently not cast iron – at best it’s fairy floss.

It’s killing him.

 He wakes up achingly hard next to Stiles in the middle of the night, half asleep and horny as hell. His hips start to hitch forwards of their own accord, and he’s rutting against his mate mindlessly, helpless to stop in his dazed state.

It doesn’t help that Stiles is pressing back against him. He draws a shaky breath as he wakes a little more, and forces his body under control.

Stiles is still sleeping, but Peter can see that he’s starting to chub up a little. He briefly contemplates bringing him to hardness as he sleeps to see if that will make him change his mind, but he dismisses the idea after a moment – it’s playing dirty, even for Peter.

He glances at the clock – 4.30 am. He knows there’s no sleep in his immediate future, so he gets up heads for the shower, where after a quick and unsatisfying  jerk off session, he plans his next move.

At 4.45am  he hears Stile’s alarm go off.  He sees Stiles feel for him sleepily, and realise that he’s alone in bed.

Peter’s dressed in the same outfit he wore on their first date, only his shirt is unbuttoned almost all the way, showing off his piercings. His feet are bare, because he knows there’s something about it that gets Stiles going. He’s carefully styled his hair so it looks slightly ruffled, soft and approachable.

He speaks out of the darkness, where he’s sitting in a chair, waiting.

“Good morning rabbit, Are you ready to dance for me?”

Stiles turns on the bedside lamp, and groggily looks at him. “What?” he croaks out.

“It’s morning darling, and it’s day four. I’m waiting for my dance” he repeats.

Stiles looks at him flatly, and it’s his turn to tell Peter to fuck right off.

Peter grins.

Perfect.

He stands and stretches then, saying “Don’t worry rabbit, how about I dance for you instead today?”

He cranks up the music obnoxiously loudly, and Jean Genie by Bowie blares out.

He struts to the pole then, putting a swagger into his hips in time to the familiar bass beat.

He starts with a sinuous grind against the cool metal, before dragging himself up the pole, hand over hand, legs dangling. Then he wraps his legs tightly and begins to move. He undresses as he dances, dropping the vest off casually, and undoing the rest of the shirt.

Stiles’ pupils are dark as he watches, and he’s licking his lips. One hand is playing absently with his nipple as he watches Peter do the same on the pole.

When Peter loses the shirt, it’s almost too much for him, watching his mate hump the pole, and he starts to stroke himself, moaning.

Thing is, Peter’s way too good at this, thinks Stiles. It’s unfair how damn hot he looks, with his back arched, and his head tipped back to show off his bitable neck, and the mating bite is right there, and Stiles just wants to get his hands all over his husband right damn now.

What idiot thought of saying no to tapping that for a week?

He can’t take it. He’s so turned on he’s starting to shift, and so he storms into the bathroom, slamming the door hard enough to crack the plaster around it.

“You’re  an asshole, Hale!” he calls out over the music, as he gets into a cold shower in an effort to regain control of his wolf.

He hears Peter calling out “You knew that when you married me, Stiles” and laughing long and loud as the music stops mid song.

He breathes deeply, thinking of unsexy things, until he feels like he’s regaining control.

He sighs, ready to admit defeat.

He perks up at the thought that getting fucked by Peter’s not really losing, not if if he enjoys it.

 He steps out of the bathroom and finds Peter with his keys in his hand, getting ready to leave.

“Where the hell are you going at 5am? “He demands.

“Breakfast meeting“ is all Peter says as he walks out.

Stiles starts to call out for him to wait, but it’s too late, the door’s closed and Peter’s gone.

Stiles is in an absolutely foul mood all day.

He woke up early thinking today he’d be able to get Peter to give in and beg to fuck him. Instead he got nothing. Nothing except a mental picture of Peter on the damn pole and blue balls.

Even jerking off isn’t helping much. It’s a temporary solution at best.

So he’s tired, he’s horny, he’s frustrated, and worst of all, he can’t see any solution that doesn’t involve him acknowledging that Peter’s bested him again.

The other staff at the library can sense his mood, and give him a wide berth. He even snaps at his library ladies. One of them makes a comment about “You look tired, dear. Is your husband keeping you up all night? ’

And Stiles snaps back “Get your mind out of the gutter, Esther, and mind your own damned business. “

There’s a moment’s silence as the ladies all gape at him, and then Mrs Mazursky steps forwards, takes him by the elbow, and leads him to the break room, saying “Young man, come with me. Now”. 

Her expression brooks no argument, and Stiles feels terrible about shouting, so he follows her meekly.

She sits him down, and makes him coffee, and finds him a blueberry muffin, all without a word. She sets the offering in front of him, and tells him “This is not you, Stiles. What’s going on?”

He picks at the muffin, squirming. “ ’S personal. “

“I don’t care. You will tell me now. Is it sex? It is sex isn’t it, because you’re blushing. Is Peter asking too much of you? “

“No” mumbles Stiles.

She just waits, knowing Stiles will need to fill the silence.

“It’s a stupid thing, and I was stupid, OK? I lost a bet, and I wanted to get back at him. I wanted to make him beg me for it, so I’ve been holding out, but I’m the one who’s desperate now. And it’s making me cranky, and I can’t win this, and I’m so damned annoyed at myself.”

Mrs Mazursky looks at him for a minute. “You want your husband to beg, is that it? But you can’t get him to crack? And now, knowing Peter damn Hale, he’s playing you at your own game, and you don’t know if you can last much longer?”

Stiles nods.

She reaches out then and smacks the back of his head, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to get his attention. “Idiot boy” she grins. “Of _course_ we can make him beg. You’re going about it all wrong. You’re appealing to his man. You have to rile up his _wolf_ ”.

Stiles stares at her.

“It’s not enough for him to want you, because I know Peter Hale and he’s as stubborn as they come. He has to _need_ to claim you. You need to make him jealous. You need to make his _wolf_ jealous. That’s if you want to win this thing. You do want to win, don’t you?”

Stiles sits there for a moment as the wheels in his head begin turning, and suddenly he leans forwards and kisses the old lady on the cheek. “Do you know how much I love you right now?” he asks.

“I think I have an idea” she smiles. “Now get out there and apologise to Esther, and bring us the rest of those muffins as a peace offering.”

Stiles does as he’s told, markedly less cranky.

 Because he has a plan, now.

 

**_Friday_ **

 

Peter wakes late, hard again. He sighs, and wonders if there’s any way to end this without being the one to give in.

Stiles shows no sign of giving in either, although he can feel the near desperate levels of frustration through their bond. He imagines Stiles can feel the same coming from him.

There had been no breakfast meeting yesterday – he’d had to get out of there before he took Stiles by force, because seeing him panting and fighting his change had driven Peter to need to claim him.

He’d driven out to the preserve and shifted into his wolf, running for hours to release the tension.

It had helped, a little. He’d stayed out late last night, working at the bar, and Stiles had been asleep when he got home.

He’s already up and gone now, to the library no doubt. Peter spots the note on the pillow. “ _I’ll dance for you tonight, Wolfman_ ”. It says, with a winking face drawn at the bottom.

Huh.

So Stiles wants to keep playing the game. Fine.

Peter spends the day doing paperwork at Jungle, wondering  what the evening will hold. He’s ready to put his pride aside and ask Stiles very nicely if he can please fuck him hard and come in his ass, as much as it will sting his pride.

He supposes that it possibly wasn’t the best idea to tease Stiles so much about owing him those dances in the first place – hindsight is a wonderful thing, he thinks idly.

 They’ve just opened for the evening and he’s contemplating heading home when Ami comes into his office, looking hesitant. “Um, Peter?’

He can see she’s nervous, though he can’t imagine why.

“I have a message from Stiles” she tells him, fidgeting.

“And what does my darling husband want now?’ Peter enquires.

“He asked if you could bartend here tonight for a till eleven, and he says that then he’ll do the thing for you after’ she says, blushing.

Peter’s brow furrows. “Are we short staffed?” he asks.

Ami shrugs. ”I only know what I’ve told you. I didn’t talk to him, he emailed me. Said to ask you to bartend till eleven, and then the rest of it.” She’s blushing even harder now.

Peter puts her out of her misery, and tells her “thanks Ami, that’ll be fine. I’ll be at the bar in a minute.”

Turns out they are actually down a staff member, and it’s a busy night, so the time flies by. As always on a Friday night, the dancers are there, starting at 10pm like clockwork. Peter watches them with a professional eye between serving drinks, assessing their performances

It’s 10.45 and Peter’s looking forwards to getting home to  Stiles and his upcoming dance. He wonders whether tonight he’ll aim for seductive or ridiculous.

He’s thinking about it, woolgathering, when there’s a tap on his shoulder and Ami hands him a note. It’s sealed, and it has Stiles’ distinctive scribble on the outside of it.

He opens it, and reads

**_The owner of Jungle would like to dance for you._ **

A second after he reads it, the music stops and the spotlight trains on the stage.

 

He looks up to see Stiles, standing stock still, head down, waiting. He’s wearing a simple white v neck tee, and skinny jeans. His hair is softly ruffled, and he looks delectable.

Peter’s heart leaps into his throat. Surely not.

He hears a soft piano intro, and then oh so familiar lyrics. It’s a song Peter loves, and Stiles damn well knows it.

_I heard there was a secret chord,_

_That David played to please the Lord,_

_But you don’t really care for music do you?_

Rufus Wainwright’s voice soars against the piano background, and Stiles starts to dance.

He starts slowly, pulling his body up the pole so it hangs in a lithe line. He slowly, slowly, swings around.

This dance isn’t sexy. It’s something more.

The moves are slow and deliberate, and Peter can see Stiles’ biceps flexing under the slightly too small t shirt. When he swings his legs out, the shirt rides up and a pale strip of skin is visible.

Stiles continues to work the pole easily, legs wide as he swings, moving to a leg grip then and leaning back, sliding his hands under the hem of his shirt and edging it up slowly, running his hands up and down his chest, pulling in his piercings. Peter can see the tiny **_bite me_** across his ribs.

The sensual moves are so at odds with the bittersweet nature of the song, but also, somehow, they’re perfect.

Peter can’t look away.

Stiles slides the shirt up over his head and discards it, exposing his tattoos for all to see.

The tattoos that are _supposed to be_ just for Peter.

The crowd has been hushed up till now, entranced with the simple beauty of the dance, but someone whistles then, and it makes Peter’s hackles raise.

Peter growls, and his fangs drop.

His mate is dancing for other men.

_Other fucking men._

His eyes flash red.

Stiles looks directly at him then, and Peter realises that he’s pushed his way to the side of the stage without even noticing it. There’s a distinct lack of bodies around him, as people deliberately step back, because even a complete fool wouldn’t get between a growling wolf and his mate.

And Peter is still growling, low and loud and deep, and he can’t seem to stop.

Stiles swings his way down off the pole as the song comes to an end, smiles a distinctly wolfish smile at Peter, flashes his eyes back at him, and goes to walk off stage.

Peter can’t let his mate out of his sight, not after other people, other _wolves_ , have seen him dancing like that. He leaps onto the stage, in full beta shift, and picks Stiles up, growling out **“ _Mine”_** possessively.

He carries him off stage to stunned silence, but then the crowd decides it must be part of the routine, because they’re all cheering and clapping and calling for more.

“You _absolute utter asshole”_  Peter  hisses, as he carries Stiles from the room and carries him to their office. “I honestly don’t know whether to fuck you right now or spank your ass red”.

Stiles is cackling gleefully, saying  “Was there something you wanted husband? You only have to ask, you know”.

He’s won.

He knows he’s won.

Peter knows he’s won.

Peter just has to admit it.

“Stiles” he finally grits out around his fangs. “ Please. I need to be in you”.

Stiles pretends to consider it.

“I suppose we could call it a working week, in which case, as long as I can be done with the dancing….” He kisses Peter savagely.

“Yes, God yes” Peter breathes out “Anything you say, rabbit”.

Stiles can’t help himself, then.

“Beg me.”

Peter though, doesn’t even hesitate. He drops to his knees, wraps his arms round Stiles’ legs, scenting his crotch and holding him tightly as he shamelessly begs, “Please,  let me claim you Stiles, I need it, those other men were looking at you and I can’t take it”.

And fuck that’s sexy, thinks Stiles, as he pulls Peter up to his feet and grabs his hair, tangling his fingers in the thick locks, kissing Peter for all he’s worth, and grinding against him.

Peter pulls back for a moment. “That’s yes, right?”

“Definitely yes” pants out Stiles, as he goes back to kissing and grinding.

“Oh, thank fuck” Peter gasps, and he drags his dick out of his jeans, pumps it once, twice, three times, and comes over Stiles’ naked chest with a groan. He starts to rub the mess into his mates’ skin, muttering .. _mine…..mine…mine_ ….and biting the long column of Stiles’ throat.

Stiles shimmies out of the skinny jeans and quickly starts stripping his own cock, and it’s only a handful of strokes before he’s adding to the mess.

They’re both still kissing and sucking at each other, rubbing the come into each other, moaning all the while. Gradually their hands start to slow, as their initial desperation wears off.

Stiles drags Peter over to the day bed then, and with a distinct sense of déjà vu, he lays him down and goes to climb over him.

A strong hand grips his wrist then. “ Oh I don’t think so rabbit, I’m going to be in control here” Peter growls out, and the possessive note in his voice makes Stiles shiver.

“Yes please, Alpha” he says.

Oh, and doesn’t that set Peter’s wolf on fire?

He flips Stiles onto his back, preps him fast and dirty ,and at two fingers in deems him ready.  He slams in without hesitation, earning a squeal from Stiles, and quickly starts to pump in and out.

“Jesus fucking Christ on a pogo stick, Peter!” Stiles yelps.

“If you’re… talking, I’m… not… fucking you… hard… enough” Peter pants out between thrusts.  And he begins slamming in even harder.

It’s not even about pleasure for him, now.

 It’s about claiming, about mine, about _mate._

It takes next to no time for him to reach his peak, and he lets out a long groan as he comes.

Stiles lies beneath him, under the weight of his body where he’s collapsed with a huff. He throws his arm dramatically over his eyes, and sighs out “I feel so used. Have you no regards for my needs, husband?” as he indicates to where his cock is still hard, pressed against his belly.

“You’re still damned lucky I’m not spanking you’ Peter grouses, as he rolls off his husband. But he leans forwards and takes Stiles in his mouth expertly, so Stiles knows he doesn’t really mean it.  Peter does devilish things with his tongue that quickly coax his orgasm out of him. “Much better” he purrs, and gives a happy sigh.

Peter regards him seriously. “Promise me you’ll never dance at the club again, rabbit. I seriously can’t take it. “

Stiles smiles at him shark like then, and says “Oh, I know you can’t”.

He lifts his face from Stiles’ lap then, and licks the come off his lips. He looks at his mate and says “I can’t decide, rabbit. Did we both win here, or are we both losers?”

“I don’t suppose it matters, but I definitely won” Stiles replies, and all Peter can feel radiating through the bond is _smugsmugsmug._

Stiles looks supremely self-satisfied, and Peter supposes he can’t begrudge him that.

Just this once.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Stiles dances this time, it's just for his mate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is no excuse for this chapter even existing, it's just self indulgent fluff and porn.

After their dalliance in the back office at Jungle, Peter and Stiles actually stay for a couple of drinks, relaxing  after their stressful week , and casually watching how Ami runs the place like clockwork.

Stiles is high on his victory, and the high fives he gets from the patrons for his dancing only fuel his glee.

In the end Peter has to pull him aside and growl in his ear that he is _never, ever, ever_ allowed to dance in public again, after he has customers requesting an encore and he looks like he might be considering it.

He rolls his eyes, but assures Peter that he honestly, really, truly will only ever dance in private after tonight.

They roll home around midnight, and when they walk in their door, Peter hoists him up with a hand under each thigh, and presses him into the wall to kiss him breathless. Stiles responds in kind, and it isn’t long before they’re both eager for more.

Stiles pulls away though,  and leads Peter over to a chair, and after settling him in it with another kiss, he offers  “Let me dance for you, properly this time?”

He starts the track, and the music had fills their apartment as he dances to Hallelujah without anybody else watching.

Just for Peter.

It’s a different dance to the one he did at the club.  That was designed to tease, to get a reaction.

This is an offering to his lover.

Pulling himself up the pole, he swings his legs out to the side, slightly parted, and begins to spin. He’s stripped his shirt off before starting, so Peter can see his ink, and as he grips the pole, the way his muscles move is captivating.  His hands are placed apart on the pole, accentuating his wide shoulders, and with his legs spread wide as he swings slowly, he looks like da Vinci’s Vitruvian man in motion. 

Lost in the music, Stiles moves gracefully, artfully, beautifully.  

He slowly, slowly, brings his feet in to the pole, planting them outside his hands and curling his feet around the metal. His head is thrown back, and Peter can see the long lines of his neck, the stretch of his body.  When he wraps one leg around the pole and releases just one hand, arching backwards, the sheer grace of it takes Peter’s breath away.  

Stiles slides his legs out into a wide split, hanging upside down and continuing to spin. When he brings his legs back in, he locks them tightly round the pole, and arches his back as far as he can.

He spins lazily like that with a small smile on his face and his eyes closed, and he looks utterly blissed out. He runs one hand casually through his hair, sending it into disarray and giving him an adorably messy look.

His hands slide up and down his sides, and trail across his tattoos. They pull at his piercings, and one hand traces down his stomach towards the button on his jeans.

When he pops the button, still arched backwards, the angle of his hips causes his zipper to start creeping down, and Peter can’t take his eyes off it as the teeth part slowly, one by one, opening slowly to reveal a slice of pale tantalizing flesh.

The dance is nearly over. The music is drawing to a finish, and Stiles is sliding down to the base of the pole. 

He doesn’t flip to dismount, he doesn’t do the splits, and he doesn’t slide across the hardwood floor.

He simply sinks to his knees and waits there, eyes closed and head back, throat exposed.

He’s worked up a light sweat. His cheeks are pink from exertion. His jeans are halfway undone, and the very edge of his underwear is peeking out.

Peter doesn’t move for a minute. He just looks at his husband, gorgeous and tousled and half naked in front of him.

“Oh, rabbit” he finally breathes out.

 “That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen”.

 

* * *

 

Peter starts forward out of his chair and scoops Stiles up off the floor, bridal style.

He peppers his face and neck with soft kisses, and nuzzles into his throat, scenting him deeply.

He doesn’t carry him to bed, as Stiles expects, but lays him back gently on the couch, and starts to scent him all over. The next track on the playlist starts, unheeded. It’s something slow, possibly Ben Folds, thinks Peter absently.

Stiles just lays there, making small satisfied noises as Peter works his way down his body. He’s barely touching him, just inhaling deeply as he buries his face in Stiles’ neck, armpits, navel, lips just brushing over his chest, tongue darting out in tiny kitten licks.

Neither of them speak, and there’s a stillness to the room, an atmosphere of reverence.

It’s worship.

Peter finally reaches the waistband of Stiles’ jeans, and he takes the zipper in his teeth and slides it the rest of the way down. He starts pressing more kisses into the pale skin of his belly, and slides his hands down into the back of the jeans, coaxing them down, taking the underwear as well. Stiles lifts his hips just enough to help slide the jeans all the way gown, and Peter peels them off his legs slowly and discards them, never looking away from his mate.

He kisses down each leg then, a little more firmly, lifting them one at a time so he can bite and suck at Stiles’ calf muscles the way they both like. Stiles lets out a squeak when he sucks a dark bruise into his left leg, and Peter grins, then.

He works his way back up, leaving more marks as he goes, including a perfect circular imprint of his teeth in the soft meat of Stiles’ right thigh that has his young lover groaning in pleasure.

The marks never stay, but Stiles still loves the sting of them, Peter knows.

Finally, when he’s travelled up and down the length of Stiles’ body, Peter leans in and kisses him deeply, thoroughly. 

Stiles buries his hands in Peter’s hair as he responds to the kiss, and Peter can feel his hard length between them, still untouched.

Stiles tugs wordlessly at Peter’s clothes, unbuckling his pants with hands that are shaking slightly.

Peter stands then, and peels off his v neck, making sure to flex as he does so, showing off his well-muscled neck and shoulders. Stiles stares in frank admiration, because the sight of his husband shirtless is something he will never get sick of.

The jeans go next, hitting the floor with a soft thud. Peter’s cock stands hard and proud between his legs. Of course he’s not wearing underwear. He rarely does.

He moves back to the couch and carries on touching and scenting Stiles, ignoring his cock, just reveling in the smoothness of his skin and the beauty of his pale flesh, marked now only by his tattoos and the few moles that scatter his body. The bruises and hickeys have already healed.

A small whimper escapes Stiles, a quiet needy sound. Peter raises his head from where he’s tugging at his piercings with his teeth, and he asks “Something you want, rabbit?”

And Stiles, after all their time together, after being married and mated and marked by his wolf, can only respond the same way he did the first time Peter asked him what he wanted.

“All. I want it all”.

Peter rolls Stiles onto his side then, and spoons up behind him. He hitches one leg up and forwards, and his hand slips down into the cleft of Stiles’ ass. He finds it still a little slick from earlier at the club, and he slides a finger in, stretching and pulling at the rim, releasing a small trickle of come and lube. He rubs his fingers through the mess, and then slips two back inside, in a scissoring motion. Stiles is still sensitive from before, and he arches back into the hand, seeking more.

“Patience, sweetheart” Peter tells him. He reaches beneath the couch to where they keep the 'emergency' lube, and coats his fingers liberally. He presses back inside, and the extra slick makes all the difference, his fingers gliding easily in and out. He targets Stiles’ prostate with wicked accuracy, the pads of his fingers rubbing against the bump over and over until Stiles is panting and whining. He withdraws his hand then, and draws Stiles up off the couch, telling him “Bed, darling. We need more room”.

Peter walks them backwards to the bed, and lowers them down together, still wrapped around each other, still kissing and touching. He manages to untangle their bodies enough to press Stiles over onto his stomach, and he pulls him up onto his knees so that his ass is presented like a feast before him, and his chest is pressed against the mattress.

He climbs up behind him on the bed, and feeds the head of his cock slowly into Stile’s waiting hole. He presses in gently but firmly, and watches avidly as Stiles’ rim stretches around him, shiny with lube, where his length disappears. Stiles groans beneath him, long and deep, a satisfied noise.

Peter takes his time, fucking in and out easily, hands on Stiles’ hips, settling in for a long, steady session of lovemaking. After a week of being denied, he intends to savor this.

Stiles has reached a hand down and is stroking himself in long, languid strokes, arching back against Peter, mumbling to himself as he often does, about  _so good_ , and _wanna take it slow_ , and _make it last_.

Peter obliges, and they slowly amble towards their climax together, taking all the time in the world to get there.

Peter thinks he’s going to go out of his mind with pleasure at the exquisite slowness of it all, the silky smooth feel of Stiles surrounding him, the increasing sensitivity of his length as he thrusts in and out, in and out, his orgasm maddeningly and fabulously just out of reach with the pace they’re going.

 They’ve been lazily rutting for over half an hour, and Stiles obviously feels the same, because now he’s asking for _more_ , and _faster_ , and when he whimpers out _so close_ , _please,_ Peter obliges him by speeding up and pressing in harder.

Their breathing picks up, and their pace quickens, and Peter reaches one hand round to join Stiles’ in stroking his hard shaft.  He rubs his thumb firmly over the head and around, smearing the precome that’s leaking, and that combined with a solid thrust is all it takes for Stiles to come, gasping and panting.

Peter doesn’t even try to hold back then, pressing forwards as deep as he can and coming long and hard, every muscle in his body tensing as he spurts out great hot jets of come.

They both release a deep breath then, and Peter feels his muscles start to relax. He looks down and sees that he’s gripped so hard that there’s a hand shaped bruise on Stiles’ hip, already fading.

Stiles is breathing heavily beneath him, head turned to the side and resting on his arms, and Peter can see the look of utter contentment on his face, and through their bond he feels Stiles’ deep satisfaction.

Peter curls up around him, leaning forwards against his back, and nuzzles at his neck. Stiles wiggles back against him, and Peter rolls them both onto their side.

They lay there together, until gravity and cooling bodily fluids cause Peter to pull out gingerly. 

“So, you liked it then?’ Stiles asks quietly.

“Rabbit, I loved it. If you never dance again, I won’t care, because that was perfect.”

 

* * *

 

 

The music is still playing, and Peter’s ears prick up when he hears the next song.

“Stiles, exactly what is this that we’re listening to?” he asks curious, because Jace Everett's "Bad Things" has started now.

Stiles flushes a little.“Just some songs I have” he answers vaguely, sitting up and attempting to snag his phone from the speaker dock.

Peter is faster though, and grabs it first.

He looks at the playlist title, eyebrow raised.

“Stiles, what the hell is _Peter Sleepytime Songs_?”

Stiles looks down, fidgeting with the edge of the sheet.

Peter waits.

“Look, you work a lot of nights, OK? And I miss you when you’re away. And I can’t always sleep, the bar downstairs keeps me awake. So it’s my soundtrack to cover the noises.”

“Your soundtrack” Peter repeats, slightly lost.

“Songs that remind me of you” Stiles mumbles.

“Are you telling me that you have a playlist of songs about me, to help you sleep when I’m away?” he asks.

“About you, about us, I guess” Stiles clarifies.

Peter finds it supremely flattering.

“You’re smitten with me” he declares gleefully.

“Never denied it, Wolfman” Stiles smiles.

Peter runs his fingers through Stiles’ hair, and comments “You never said the bar was keeping you awake”.

Stiles shrugs. “Wolf ears are a bitch, that’s all. I’ll probably adjust, with time.”

 Peter looks at him thoughtfully and suggests “Shall we buy a house, rabbit?  Away from the bar?  Somewhere just for us? ”

Stiles is quiet for a moment, then he replies “It might be nice - house in the suburbs, white picket fence, 2.5 kids and a dog”.

Peter tenses, and asks carefully ”Do want a family, Stiles?”

Because he’d assumed that like him, Stiles was happy with just the two of them. He tries to figure out the logistics of two werewolf bar owners trying to adopt, and just can’t.

Stiles lifts his head, though, and rolls his eyes at Peter.

 “Relax Peter, its just an expression. Me having kids? God, that's my worst nightmare. I’d be the most unfit parent ever. “

He pauses. “Actually, scratch that, you’d be much worse than me. I think we’ll be much happier as the token gay couple who scandalize all their neighbors”.

He feels Peter relax next to him, chuckling "We would be good at that, wouldn't we?"

 

“I do like the idea of an actual house though, and maybe a dog…”

 

 

* * *

 

 

On Monday, several things happen.

Peter and Stiles visit the local real estate agent, and start looking at house listings. They ask for somewhere with a backyard suitable for a dog.

Stiles asks for a street that still needs their token gay couple, but Peter kicks him under the table and tells the agent to ignore him.

 

They also start the process of buying the hotel. Peter’s reasoning is that they’re doing paperwork anyway. It goes under Little Rabbit Enterprises, despite Stiles protesting that Peter has to stop buying him buildings.

Peter wisely doesn’t mention that negotiations are underway to buy the Maze as well.

For sentimental reasons.

 

* * *

 

 

Mrs Mazursky opens her door to a gift basket delivery of epic proportions.

There are six boxes of books. More specifically, six boxes of every Harlequin Werewolf Romance ever published.

There’s a basket of fine wines and chocolates.

There are flowers.

There’s a fruit basket.

And there’s an invitation to meet Stiles at the library at 5pm, after close. He has something to show her.

When she arrives, excitement evident on her face, he leads her inside.

He sits her down, and tells her that he wouldn’t share this with anyone else, but he thinks if anyone can be trusted, it’s her.

And he shows her the Damn Book.

Tells her to take it home and read it at her leisure, only asking that she doesn’t loan it out to anyone else.

She gives him an affronted look. “I know how to care for books, young man, and the _first_ rule of borrowed books is that they stay with the borrower”.

She asks then, eyes twinkling “So you won then?”

His smile is answer enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do we think is on the Peter Sleepytime Songs playlist? I'm interested to hear what songs you think epitomise the relationship between Stiles and Peter Stilinski-Hale. 
> 
> Here's my pick to start you off.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sMPNjPpdjKU
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f9bRmuP-kQY

**Author's Note:**

> OK, I lied. I didn't manage just one chapter. There's more to come.


End file.
